


I Swear I Used to Have More Self-Control

by YouLookGoodInLeather



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Belly Kink, Feeding, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Some signs of PTSD/general post-military trauma, Weight Gain, chubby bucky, chubbystuckyexchange, chunk!punk! Bucky, coffee shop AU, feederism, it's good for the soul, love handles, mostly just fluff tbh, pre-serum! Steve, resaurant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:36:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouLookGoodInLeather/pseuds/YouLookGoodInLeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Urgh,” Bucky said, pulling towards him the third and final plate, “the things I do for cute boys in coffee shops.”</p><p>Coffee shop AU that devolved into blanket snuggles and dinner dates. Shameless chunk!punk!Bucky worship and Steve just wanting to do the right thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Swear I Used to Have More Self-Control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youwilllovemylaugh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youwilllovemylaugh/gifts).



> Thanks to buckysmuffintop / youwilllovemylaugh for the prompts for this; I hope it lives up to what you wanted. Credit also goes to the amazing essieincinci for her creation of the beautiful, life-ruining chunk!punk! Bucky verse. My first chubby!kink fic so sorry if I'm a bit clumsy with these things. I've also only ever been in one coffee shop before so... this has been an interesting learning curb :P Happy chubbystuckyexchange everyone!

The universe made it pretty much impossible for Steve _not_ to notice Bucky.

Firstly, he stuck out like a sore – albeit incredibly welcome – thumb. The coffee shop in which Steve worked was the epitome of hipster pretentiousness; Everything they served had an ‘alternative’ name to the norm and thus cost twice the price. Their typical customer was a skinny, androgynous individual with a rinse dye job and a messenger bag strapped across their front.

Bucky on the other hand was a racoon-eyed, ripped jean clad male who was muscular, but also about twenty pounds overweight and wore clothes to emphasise it. When he first walked into the coffee shop he was wearing black skinny jeans at least two sizes too small for him, and the band T-shirt he wore struggled to conceal the subsequent bulge that spilled over his waistline. Steve had a difficult time keeping his eyes on Bucky’s face.

He entered cautiously on that first morning, and Steve noticed the way his eyes scanned the room as he walked in. It seemed instinctual rather than a response to the coffee shop in particular, as Bucky appeared unaware that he was doing it. When he drew up to the counter, he smiled, a lopsided, endearing expression that was just the right side of charming. It did little to help Steve focus.

“Hey,” Bucky said, his smile widening to a grin, which in turn deepened his slight double chin. The cafe had opened just five minutes ago, and thus Steve was still in the middle of setting up, but those preparations were somewhat forgotten about when his first, unfairly gorgeous customer arrived. With Steve bent over, Bucky’s exposed stomach was right on his eye level. He mentally berated himself for all he was worth, but to be honest, it didn’t do much good.

“H-hi. What can I get you?”  Steve stuttered, straightening from where he had been unpacking the day’s supplies. It was difficult not to blush since he felt like he was being far too obvious, but he smiled his best barista smile anyway and kept his head up in order to encourage his eyes to stay focused where they ought to.

Bucky laughed, although unlike people who tended to pick on Steve for his size, it lacked cruelty. He watched Steve for a couple of seconds longer – which did nothing to help the blush – and then glanced up at the menu boards positioned above his head. Leaning forward against the counter, he took a moment to decide and then smiled back at Steve.

And then he ordered nearly half the menu.

Crimson, Steve had to ask him to repeat the order again so he could note it all down, eyes glued to the notepad. Bucky did so with less of a smile than before, his eyes averted to a lemon bobbing up and down in a cup of water on the coffee counter.  With a mix of shame and guilt, Steve almost went to explain that he was distracted for a reason that had nothing to do with disgust, but caught himself in time. There were some things you definitely weren’t supposed to say to strangers.

So instead he hung his head and cursed his own reactions for backfiring. “Can I get a name for that order?” He asked, risking looking up away from the notepad and back at Bucky, his pen poised and ready.

“Bucky,” he answered, and a trace of the crooked smile returned when he said it.

There was no one else present in the shop yet, save Steve’s co-worker Tony – an eccentric billionaire who just worked there for kicks, apparently – who was round the back, so silence settled in. Steve felt incredibly self-conscious as he went about preparing a latte, hot chocolate (with cream), and retrieved the various food items Bucky had ordered from the display case, all whilst Bucky leant against the counter, watching. Steve had difficulty fitting it all onto one tray, which had been designed to carry the orders of a family of four. He tried not to think too much about that fact.

“Thanks,” Bucky said with more warmth than any customer had given him before, lifting the tray. He carried it over to a table, and slipped into the booth. Steve had been praying that he’d at least have the decency to sit with his back to him, so that he might be able to get some work done before the morning rush started, but no, Bucky chose to sit facing him, the impressive tray displayed before him.

Never once did he look over at Steve, yet the barista was pretty convinced that he knew he was watching him. He had no reason for this belief, it was just the usual paranoia, but all the same it meant that he was determined not to give himself away.  In a lame attempt to disguise his interest, he pretended to polish this and that, to clean the already pristine cups, and to stock the coffee machine, all whilst sneaking glances. Like he’d said, they didn’t often get people like Bucky in there. Most of the time Steve did a flawless job with not eyeing up the customers; He reasoned with himself that this meant he deserved one little slip up.

Bucky downed the Latte within the space of two minutes, in between bites of the cinnamon roll he’d ordered. That too was finished rapidly, and he didn’t slow even when he reached the end of the rocky road triangle, cutting it up neatly with the side of his fork before popping chunks in his mouth. Worse still for Steve’s concentration on his duties, he did it all with a look of relieved happiness, his smile subtle and subconscious, contrasting to the wolfish manner with which he ate.

Unfortunately, Steve was then distracted by another customer arriving, this one as stick thin and proud of mispronouncing foreign beverage names as the rest. He managed to shake his stalker tendencies for the sake of serving them, glad for the escape of pulling leavers and adding up the totals. It was much easier to think about that than already pressured buttons becoming even more pressured, and Bucky eating himself into a state where he could no longer get out of the booth, and-

“Here’s your order, Miss,” Steve said, cutting his own train of thought off as he handed over a coffee. The hipster girl thanked him whilst texting, and then went to take a seat of her own. Steve barely had time to resume his pretence of being occupied when Bucky appeared in front of him. “Thanks,” he said, giving Steve a two fingered wave, walking backwards towards the door. His T-shirt had ridden up another good centimetre, and he winced once or twice when he twisted his torso the wrong way and pulled his stretched stomach even further.

“Thanks for coming,” Steve replied as politely as he could, returning the wave with a one hand and his best smile. His composure earned him another charismatic grin from Bucky, who then turned and left, leaving Steve to his coffee and his hipsters.  

 

*******

 

To Steve’s surprise and delight, Bucky returned every morning of the following week, and then every morning for the following month. He was almost always the first to arrive, sometimes even arriving before Steve had turned the welcome sign to read ‘Open’. Unable to watch him just stand out in the cold morning air, Steve had invited him in and served him anyway, using the excuse of Bucky being their best and most loyal customer when Tony questioned him on it later. Fortunately, Steve’s slight stature served to give him an air of innocence, and so Tony bought the lie, shrugging with disinterest at the lack of scandal.

For the first week, they stuck to their routines of ‘Hi’ and ‘What can I get you?’ With no one else ever around, however - since more often than not Tony showed up late - they quickly got to talking. In the beginning it never went beyond trivial small talk, Steve asking about what music Bucky liked, and in turn being asked about what the tattoos that ringed his wrist meant and so on. It was pleasant, but at the same time Steve was eager for more, to learn more.

By the third week, Bucky would show up half an hour early and just sit at the bar, chatting whilst Steve set up. He was grateful for the company, and he hoped Bucky enjoyed his too. By the looks of it he certainly enjoyed the food anyway. He still wore the same pairs of ripped jeans, but now the slashes in the fabric were stretched further by his additional cushioning, and he’d been forced to invest in new T-shirts when the old ones became indecent. As for the button downs, those had caused Steve just as many problems when one morning one of the buttons on a white one popped right off, and both men had flared red with embarrassment.

“Isn’t this place a bit inconvenient for you though?” Steve asked one morning as he was setting up the pastry display case, offering the first one of each type to Bucky. More often than not, the offer was accepted.

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked, taking the offered brownie and biting off the corner.

“I mean, you live so far away. Doesn’t it take you ages to walk?” Steve said, continuing with his duties. Over time he’d graduated from helplessly fawning over Bucky in silence to being able to control himself enough to just appreciate it. Bucky was turning out to be an unexpected friend, and he’d rather not creep him out with his particular inclinations.

“I don’t sleep much,” Bucky said with a shrug, and then he laughed. “Besides, I think the run does me good. You and your damn coffee shop have been a terrible influence on me.” He rested one hand on his stomach, giving Steve a look that was half scolding, half shy. Neither of them had ever breached the subject of Bucky’s weight, or what his habit of visiting the coffee shop every day had done to it. Steve wasn’t sure he’d be able to maintain his new level of composure if they did.

“You look fine,” Steve said, trying not to sound as defensive as he felt of Bucky’s paunch. It wasn’t as if he had any right to feel protective of it, but he just liked seeing Bucky like this. His number one customer sometimes seemed a little damaged at times, – he’d mentioned in passing his previous involvement in the army, but had been reluctant to discuss it further –  and seeing him looking so soft and indulged made Steve glad for him. In his eyes, someone like Bucky deserved to be pampered, and it didn’t hurt none that Steve liked how it looked on him.

“Never said I didn’t,” Bucky said, sitting up and finishing the last of the brownie. Despite having recognised Steve and his terrible influence, he still took the doughnut he was offered. “But it’s hardly healthy.”

“Problem is,” Bucky continued, licking sugar from his fingers, “I can’t stop myself. I always end up binge eating when-” He cut himself off, grimacing to cover it up. “I guess I’m a bit of a comfort eater, especially in the mornings and evenings. I didn’t even notice I’d been putting on weight for ages after I got back.” He laughed again, glancing down at his stomach. “I’d forgotten it was even possible.”

“Is it-” Steve began, hesitating. Bucky had never been this open about things before, and he didn’t want to push him, but at the same time he wanted to be there to listen. “Is the comfort eating because of whatever happened over there?”

Bucky didn’t answer for a moment, the smile fading as he sobered. “Yeah,” he said, looking down at his half drained hot chocolate.

“Well then,” Steve said in a bold voice, hoping to drag Bucky out of whatever memory he’d slipped into, “if it helps you, I don’t see anything wrong with it.”

Smiling at that, Bucky looked up at Steve, and the expression was too affectionate for Steve not to feel flustered. “You know,” Bucky said, “I’ve actually got a theory I want to test out. I figured if I had someone to tell me to take it slow, I wouldn’t binge eat so much.” Steve wasn’t entirely sure he was the best person for that job, but said nothing, nodding since Bucky moved to continue. “So, will you help me test it?”

“How?” Steve asked slowly, cautious not of Bucky, but of himself. At work, he could keep his infatuation under wraps. He wasn’t so sure about if they were alone elsewhere, with Bucky binge-eating.

“I don’t know, we could do dinner or something,” Bucky said a little too casually, topping it off with a shrug. “There’s this real fancy place that opened up right next to my apartment block, but everything’s dirt cheap and so I wouldn’t even have the motivation of saving money to stop me. I need you to save me from myself Steve, I can already hear it calling my name at two am. Which reminds me, it stays open till four, so I’m pretty much doomed without you.”     

Once Steve realised he was being asked out, on a date that hadn’t even been set up by Natasha, his magnificent but occasionally over-bearing friend, he couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah,” he said, with a level of enthusiasm that was far from being ‘cool’, but who cared? Bucky had still asked him to dinner. “After all, I can’t leave you to face the evil plans of the nefarious restaurant alone, can I?”

“Not unless you want your best customer to spend the next week in a food coma, no,” Bucky replied, his grin practically glowing.

“It’s a date,” Steve said, before he could stop himself. Bucky didn’t even flinch though, and Steve wondered how his cheeks couldn’t hurt he was smiling so much. “When do you want to go?”

“I don’t know, I’ll check with them to see when they have a table or something,” Bucky said, chewing on his lower lip as he drummed his fingers on the table. “I’ll call you when I find out.”

“And for that, you shall need my number,” Steve said, picking up one of the paper coffee cups stacked beside him. With the provided black marker, he scribbled down his mobile number on the side, and then filled the cup with Bucky’s usual morning latte. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he said, handing it over to Bucky, who took it and inspected the given phone number.

“I’ll call you then,” Bucky said, the ear to ear smile back on his face.

 

*******

 

Bucky did not call him. Nor did he show up to the coffee shop the next morning, or the morning after that.

“Where’s your best and most loyal customer vanished to then?” Tony asked, after a week of empty mornings and Steve not to subtly moping. “I was starting to enjoy the mornings of suffocating in sexual tension.”

Even Tony Stark knew to shut up, however, when Steve just have him a moody glare and stacked glasses with worrying force.

Steve stuck it out to the end of the week, before he decided he was done with sulking away behind a coffee counter. After they shut up shop on a Saturday evening, he pulled from his pocket a slip of paper, upon which Bucky’s address had been written a few weeks ago. Steve had never intended to resort to stalking, but broken promises tended to make him compromise his morals.

Wrapped up in a hooded coat and scarf thanks to the mid-winter season, Steve trudged through the snow covered streets with determination, his breath misting before him. He wasn’t angry with Bucky, just disappointed, and if nothing else he just wanted an explanation. Part of him was worried that Bucky really had eaten himself into a food coma, whilst the other part was a lot more honest. He just wanted to see Bucky again.

When he buzzed Bucky’s apartment on the intercom he got no answer, but an intoxicated young lady on the third floor let him in whilst in fits of hysteria. When he passed her room on the stairs he could hear her laughing still.

Bucky’s apartment was up on the fifth floor, and Steve reached it a little out of breath, his asthma just waiting to play up. Ignoring it since he had better things to do than die, Steve clenched his fist and knocked on the door. He received no reply.

“Bucky?” He called from outside, straining his ears for any sign of life. “Buck?”

Still no reply. Sighing, he tried opening the door by force out of frustration, wrenching at the door handle.

It had been unlocked for he went tumbling in, the door swinging open with ease. Catching himself, Steve looked around, squinting. The light levels were low, most of the windows shielded by curtains, and his eyes took a moment to adjust.

Stepping lightly, he moved out of the entrance to go and explore. Something crunched underfoot, and he found he’d stepped on one of many beer cans littering the floor, accompanied by pizza and Chinese takeaway boxes. They couldn’t be all that old, for the smell that saturated the apartment was of fresh food, the scent of decay absent. Still, it wasn’t the most reassuring sight, and Steve’s stomach twisted as he continued with caution.

He found Bucky in the lounge, or at least what he thought was Bucky. It appeared to be human shaped, but it was hard to tell thanks to the puffy blanket that it wore over its head, and had tucked around its front. It was illuminated better than the rest of the house thanks to the television screen alight before it, the volume on mute. As with the rest of the house, the sofa upon which it sat was surrounded by various discarded packaging, and a stack of three pizza boxes resided on the sofa cushion behind the human-shaped thing.

“Buck?” Steve asked softly. The thing responded by pulling the blanket tighter over its front, shielding itself from him. “Buck, what happened?” Steve said, taking a step in but going no further. He didn’t understand the situation, but he still knew to be gentle. His past irritation and disappointment had been replaced by concern, and rather than confronting Bucky, he just hoped he could be of some comfort to him.

Bucky didn’t give an explanation, but he didn’t tell him to go anyway either, so Steve took another few steps closer. Moving slowly, he removed the pizza boxes from the sofa cushion and took a seat beside the blanket mountain, looking over at it. “Bucky?”

“I’m sorry Steve,” the blankets said with Bucky’s voice, and he drew the blankets shut over his face, hunching over. “I didn’t mean to back out or lie to you, I just-” he cut off, and Steve realised he was crying.

“It’s okay Buck, I’m fine,” Steve said, edging closer to him to show he meant it. “I’m just worried is all. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Again, Bucky didn’t answer, at least not initially. He hugged his blanket fort closer, and then slackened his grip, leaving his face exposed to the TV light. His usual black rings of eyeliner had smudged down his cheeks, just about obscuring the heavy bags that ringed his eyes. It could have been the odd lighting, but his eyes looked raw and red, and his lips were badly chapped.

“My therapist said I was okay to start seeing people,” he said, his voice thick. “Couple of weeks ago actually, but I didn’t feel like I could. I don’t really know how to behave around people all the time so…” he trailed off, tugging the blankets closer. “I probably shouldn’t have asked you,” he said. “But, well,” he laughed, his voice hoarse from whatever the hell he’d spent the past seven days doing, “I really wanted to.

“I just knew I’d screw it up,” he said, dropping the blanket to cover his face with his hands instead. “And then I started panicking and everything just kept getting worse, and it all acted as one big trigger. I tried calling you a couple times but I always gave out before I could press the call button. I wasn’t- I was too much of a mess to even go out and see you to apologise. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Steve said, shuffling closer so that their knees were touching through the material of the fallen blanket. “I forgive you. Are you freaking out less now?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, “it just got to the point that once I missed you one day, I couldn’t face you the next.” He laughed, and this time it was warmer. “I thought you’d hate me. You really need to work on developing hate-filled grudges towards people, Steve. I mean I completely stood you up for a whole week; I at least deserve a decent rant.”

“You’re an idiot for thinking you could screw it up,” Steve said, aligning their thighs so that they were sat hip to hip, able to tell how cold Bucky’s skin was just from that. “I like you Bucky, otherwise I wouldn’t have said yes. That means even if you do screw up occasionally, it’s okay. I’m willing to forgive you.”

“Well I’m sorry that my place is a mess too then, and that you’re probably going to catch something from it and die horribly. And I’m sorry that you have to deal with my emotional baggage, and I’m sorry that I’ve hardly got the perfect body. Someone as idiotically nice as you deserves more than that,” Bucky said in a low voice, turning for the first time to look over at him, bringing their faces rather close.

“To the first one, you can nurse me back to health if I do as compensation. Secondly, everyone’s got emotional baggage Buck, and hopefully you’re willing to put up with mine in return. We can work through it. And lastly,” Steve leant forward and rested a hand against the muffin top of Bucky’s stomach, which sat exposed thanks to his being shirtless, “I like your body too. I hope you don’t think I blush that easily normally.”

“You’re weird, you know that, Steve?” Bucky said, leaning closer and smiling now, which was just as endearing as ever despite the eyeliner smudges and rough appearance.

“Like you can talk,” Steve replied, content to lean in too, bringing them nose to nose. Bucky chuckled, brushing their noses together and leaning his forehead against Steve’s.

“You got me,” he said. “Now, whatever can I give you as a reward?”

Steve couldn’t help laughing at that particularly cheesy pick-up line, but he loved it all the same, glad that the morose atmosphere had dispersed. He didn’t want Bucky holed up crying in his apartment because of him, he’d much prefer corny one-liners and that damn perfect smile. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he met Bucky’s eyes, checking that it was okay, that he wasn’t going to traumatise him further. In return, Bucky pulled him closer, wrapping one end of the blanket around him, and he moved Steve’s arms so that his hands rested on his waist, his fingers brushing over his love handles.

Then, in the flicker of the television light, they kissed.   

 

*******

 

As promised, two nights later Bucky took Steve out for dinner.

The restaurant was packed, the combination of decent food and cheap prices attracting customers like flies. It was a bit of a cultural mishmash, half all-American themed, half some obscure oriental attempt, but what mattered was the food. They ended up seated in the back corner by a veiled window, but all around them people were chatting and bitching and laughing and eating. Buzzing with the collective noise, the atmosphere was lively, but friendly all the same. The activity of the place wound up creating a sense of privacy, for amongst the bustle they were just two more people, and the staff were far too run off their feet to care about whatever they got up to.

“Christ,” Bucky said, the menu propped up before him, “everything sounds amazing.”

“Am I still being expected to stop you from binge-eating?” Steve asked, smiling as he sat back in his chair and watched Bucky’s impressive enthusiasm for the offered dishes.

“I’m supposed to say yes here, aren’t I?” Bucky said with a small groan, frowning as he tried to choose between options.

“Not necessarily,” Steve said, giving him the least impish smile he could manage, which wasn’t all that innocent if he was going to be honest.

Bucky didn’t seem to find it weird however, grinning and folding up the menu in decisive acceptance. When the waitress came, he ordered three separate meals, and this time instead of averting his eyes he glanced over at Steve, copying his devious smile. The waitress herself made no comment, noting down the orders diligently and promising them she’d be back as soon as possible, warning them that there may be a short wait due to the overcrowding.

“I swear, I used to have more self-control,” Bucky informed Steve casually when they were left alone, crossing his arms on the table. “But after years of getting fuck all to eat, the modern day food industry seems like too much of an opportunity to pass up.”

“You always look so happy when you’re eating,” Steve said, mirroring his posture. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who appreciates food as much as you.”

“Trust me, if you’d seen some of the things I’ve eaten, you’d understand why your brownies are such a godsend to me,” Bucky said, lowering his voice in mock theatrics and tilting his head down, lifting his eyebrows. “I’m pretty confident that some of it was still alive at the time of consumption.”

Laughing, Steve was both flattered and relieved that Bucky was able to talk so openly for once about his days back with the military, even if it was about the food. They continued making bad jokes and talking for a good fifteen minutes until finally their order arrived, the waitress returning with her hair coming lose from its knot and her skin flushed.

“Sorry for the wait,” she apologised, handing Steve his modest order of a chicken salad before facing Bucky. With some difficulty, she managed to arrange the three plates before him, still without any judgement whatsoever. “Enjoy your meal,” she said, parting with a smile before vanishing back to the bustle of other tables.

“You really think you’re going to be able to eat all that?” Steve asked, picking up his fork and eyeing Bucky’s order. Steve would barely have managed one of the dishes, let alone all three.

“This is what the mornings at your coffee shop have all been training me for Steve,” Bucky said, pulling the nearest plate before him, and he accepted Steve’s challenge with gusto. “I won’t let you down.”

Picking up his own cutlery, Bucky set about demolishing his steak, which was soaked in garlic butter and garnished with fries and salad. Steve barely touched his own food, picking at it absently as he watched on with fascination. He’d never seen a human being eat that much, or that quickly, and he was curious to see if Bucky could actually finish three full portion meals. Judging by his waistband, his jeans certainly couldn’t, already clinging on for dear life.

Bucky finished the steak, and mopped up the rest of the melted garlic butter with his chips, still wearing his usual food smile. He started slowing by the end, however, and he moaned slightly as he switched in the second plate, fiddling with his waistband to try and loosen it from where it was digging into his stomach. “I’m going to regret this,” he said, looking down at the burger he was now faced with.   

Steve said nothing as he watched Bucky pick up the bun and bite into it, chewing slowly now. The smart shirt he’d worn for the evening occasion was protesting against the over indulgence, the material puckering around the buttons, particularly over the curve that hung out over Bucky’s jeans. “If I die, put something cool on my gravestone. ‘Death by burger’ doesn’t sound all that heroic,” he muttered as he paused to regain his stamina, the burger only half eaten.

“Does ‘the nefarious restaurant got him in the end’ work for you?” Steve said with a small smile and a tight feeling in the base of his stomach as Bucky practically started panting with the effort of overeating.

“Perfect.”

With considerable effort and slow, steady bites, Bucky managed to finish the burger, pushing the remaining plate of onion rings and coleslaw away from him. “Steve, I’m not sure I can make it to the last one. I can barely _move_ for Christ’s sake.”

“You’re doing great Buck,” Steve said quietly, shy around the idea of encouraging him but trying it all the same.

“Urgh,” Bucky said, pulling towards him the third and final plate, “the things I do for cute boys in coffee shops.”

The final dish was smaller, but Bucky seemed to be on his last legs. It might even have been considered healthy, a stir fry of vegetables and spaghetti, coated in a thick sauce and spices. Covering a small belch with the back of his hand, Bucky looked down at the meal, his other hand massaging his swollen stomach absently. “Motivate me here Steve,” he said in pleading, tapping the side of his fork against the plate. “I’m risking my life for this.”

“You finish that, and I’ll help carry you back to your apartment,” Steve said, innocently at first, before he let a small smile slip. “And we can see where we go from there.”

“Sounds like an offer I can’t refuse,” Bucky said, setting his jaw and his grin returning.

The button of his jeans popped after only the first forkful.

“Christ,” Bucky mumbled, dropping the next scoop of spaghetti to try and patch up his ruptured trousers, his stomach filling the available space. Their secluded corner table stopped anyone around them from noticing, save for Steve, who was feeling more aroused than he liked to admit.

Bucky’s fumbling stilled when he spotted Steve’s expression and flushed cheeks, and after a moment his own expression turned from embarrassed to cunning, his smile worthy of the Cheshire cat himself. “Oh no,” he said, with overdone melodrama, slumping back in defeat so that his stomach pooled forwards, “I appear to have burst my jeans.”

“Shut up and finish your meal,” Steve said abashedly, ducking his head and focusing on finishing off his own plate, attempting not to smile at how Bucky was playing along now.

They sat in silence for a while, Bucky working on fulfilling his end of the deal whilst Steve tried to keep his eyes off of his protruding stomach, which spilled over his thighs, settling there. To stare seemed perverted and unfair, because Bucky was more than just a gorgeous stomach, and they were hardly at a stage where Steve was allowed to see him exposed like that. At the same time it was hard not to, the cellulite jiggling whenever Bucky leaned forward for another forkful.

“Steve,” Bucky said quietly, “it’s okay you know. You can look.”

So he did. He watched as Bucky’s shirt buttons tilted with the force exerted upon them, and noted the beginnings of stretch marks that were now visible on Bucky’s skin. “Do you know how much you’ve gained?” Steve asked, glancing back up to meet his eyes as he shovelled in another fork load.

“A lot, I’d wager,” Bucky said with a shrug, pausing for a moment to swallow. “I don’t know, I haven’t really kept track. I just sort of ate and it happened.”

Nodding, Steve positioned his knife and fork together to one side of his plate. “Hey, Steve,” Bucky said, pulling back his attention and grinning wickedly. “Guess who just won a tow back to their apartment?”

He spoke the truth; his meal was finished, the sauce even scraped from the bottom of the bowl and consumed. With a small wave he signalled for the bill, and then collapsed back in his seat, moaning again and rubbing both hands against his stomach. “Never again,” he swore, eyes closed for a moment as he tried to shift into a more comfortable sitting position.

“Now is that anyway to respond to a first date?” Steve asked, acting offended – badly, considering how much he was smiling – and placing a hand over his heart to emphasise how deeply he was hurt.

“Depends,” Bucky said, “would you be willing to have a second one?”

“Definitely.”

The waitress came and let them pay the bill, Bucky awkwardly trying to hide his busted clothing and exposed stomach under the table as he did so, having insisted he pay since he ate thrice as much as Steve. “Hey, Bucky,” Steve said as he stood, walking over to stand before his date, who was trying to conceal his stomach with his jacket for the walk back, still sat in his seat. “You’re really beautiful, you know that?” And, before Bucky could come up with a verbal response, Steve leaned down and kissed him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I personally have nothing against hipsters, I think Steve just got tired of being surrounded by them.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
